


That Mortal Coil, Shuffled

by feathershollyandgolly



Series: Fae!Charles [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Atmospheric, Fae & Fairies, Forests, M/M, Thriller, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:53:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26568349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathershollyandgolly/pseuds/feathershollyandgolly
Summary: “My parents told me plenty of stories,” Erik says. He fights the feeling of cool terror running down the back of his neck.“You are human adjacent,” Charles states, lips ghosting Erik’s ear. “I, on the other hand, am less human than you will ever be.”
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: Fae!Charles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932352
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	That Mortal Coil, Shuffled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hllfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hllfire/gifts).



> TW: Suffocation, dark themes, mild violence
> 
> Title from Hamlet because I am pretentious and I love it.

It starts a few weeks after moving in. 

Erik knows not to trust the miles of woodland stretching into the distance. The solemn road that leads there is devoid of even gentle birdsong. The metal below is ancient. Untouched.

When he spoke to the previous owner of the house—a scraggly old man willing to _pay_ for someone to take the place off his hands—he assumed he understood what to expect. Not much can surprise him, anymore.

The house is little more than a cabin nestled deep in upstate New York. Far from any humans who want to give him trouble. Even with splintered floors, molding corners, howling winds that batter at the thin walls each night—it is perfectly private.

And perfectly alone.

-

Someone is watching him. He notices from the beginning, eyes unable to tear away from the waving, spindly trees surrounding the property.

Erik pries open a window facing the backyard. A cloud of dust bursts towards him as the hinges shriek, but his attention remain fixed on the further exposed tree line. There is something about the view that unsettles him. Almost as though the shimmering glass warps the contents outside. 

He tugs the window up the rest of the way, metal singing in its frame. And outside, he peers.

Something looms at the edge between wilderness and the patch of tamed land Erik has so foolishly tried to claim. Bathed in patches of shadow and golden afternoon light. Jagged, branching structures pierce from its skull. It shifts across wild thicket with sturdy legs, honed for agility. Closer.

Erik waits with baited breath, unwilling to move. It is a buck—unblinking, _staring_ right back.

Deer normally spook easily, leaping back into the expansive forest that surrounds the property. But this one has moist, beady dark eyes that should be pitiful if it were not so focused. Intense.

Erik tries to meet its gaze and finds he can’t. The buck stalks away.

Stalks would be the proper term. Like a predator appraising a future hunt.

-

He marches carelessly into the forest, carrying nothing but a small pocket knife and the weight of his own shadows as they trail behind him. There is nothing else out there for him. Curiosity burns. He has caught the watchful gaze of a force he is far from understanding. 

Whatever it may be, it cannot be human.

“I know you’re there,” he calls into the empty glen.

The spring air is heavy with the humidity of dawn. Undergrowth crackles below his soaked boots, springing back after each step as though he was never there to begin with. The metallic aftertaste of last night’s storm lingers. 

_You need to leave,_ a voice echoes.

Erik was never one to follow orders. He continues his trek, vanishing further into the thicket.

-

The sound of laughter bounces between the trees. Whispering of something foreign, neither good nor evil. 

Erik does not hear the original voice often, but each time he approaches the distant sounds they fade as though caught. 

He happens upon mushrooms that line the forest floor. Not few, but many. As though a great beast had ravaged the forest and taken enough to give back to the earth. Each the same sickly shade of yellow. 

They form bands, stretched out and wavering in the wind. Circles that should mean something, if Erik had been taught. 

Deathcaps. They are called deathcaps for a reason.

-

It is late. The sun is just past its peak in the sky, gazing upon the sole man who decided to stray from the path.

Erik knows magnetic north like the back of his hand, but he also knows that going back would take hours. He is growing hungry. Tired from the heat against the back of his neck.

Even the crowns of the trees offer little protection from the sticking warmth.

Clusters of deathcaps remain ever-present below, hard to miss yet even more difficult to crush under his feet. It feels wrong, somehow. Dodging them all afternoon is just as draining and feeling something soft give way rather than usual roots and branches.

He sits to gather his bearings. It was only supposed to last a moment. 

The knife is still secured in his pocket, heavy against his thigh. Familiar. He brought no backpack. No water. It was never supposed to take so long. The mere thought of returning on an empty stomach makes him nauseous with further hunger.

He never notices that his eyes close. That the mutterings grow louder and sharper. That somehow, his need for rest has become weariness has become exhaustion. 

His body grows heavy with sleep. 

-

Falling. He sinks quietly into a warm embrace of nothing. Of earth. Of a sort of comfortable heat that surrounds him as countless holds whisk him to somewhere else. Somewhere safe. He is safe.

“Wake up!”

A desperate voice breaks through the spell, muffled but tangible as though each word ghosts his skin. Erik does not want to wake up. He’s going where no one will hurt him. 

“Please, you have to wake up!” 

The soil moves like quicksand, falling away faster. There is an immovable pressure on his chest. Weight caving against his ribs, his entire body. He can’t breathe.

_“You’re going to die!”_

His eyes open to darkness and the panic sets in. Suffocating, full-bodied, accompanied by a chill sweat that only absorbs into the dirt around him. He opens his mouth to taste grime and soot and the humid decay of the dark.

“Your name!” Cries the voice, but it’s becoming so quiet. “You have to give me your name!”

“Erik,” he chokes out.

It is as if the Earth itself recoils. Shuddering beneath him, around him, something powerful gives way to something just as ancient. A wound tears through the ground, spitting and gurgling as though a beast choking on its own blood. Against pale sun flooding in, the silhouette of an arm stretches across the void.

Erik is gripped by a firm hand as it drags him to the surface.

Stinging air refills his lungs. He stumbles, landing on his feet and ripping away from what clutched him. He blinks away searing daylight. His vision adjusts in bursts and spots of darkness.

“You shouldn’t be here, Erik,” the voice urges, warning, but not unkind.

Erik startles at the tangibility of the sound, unrestrained and clear like a melody. He turns to face its owner. “What? Who are you?”

“No one you need to know, I’m afraid.”

It’s a man, shorter than Erik but far from nonthreatening. He carries himself with a swift force, clever and stubborn. Chestnut hair falls in waves around a sharp brow and wisened gaze. He is uncanny in a way that makes Erik unsure of whether to be truly thankful.

“I gave you my name,” Erik insists. “I would like the courtesy of knowing yours.”

“Ah, well. It’s only fair then.” The man smiles ruefully, as though Erik will regret asking. “My name is Charles.”

“Charles,” Erik repeats. “Do you live around here?”

Charles laughs. “To an extent.”

Erik cannot stop staring at Charles’ eyes as they gleam with mirth. A deep blue not quite the color of the sky. Not quite the color of anything he has ever seen. Is this a neighbor? A local?

“I’ll probably be seeing you around, then,” Erik notes, forcibly trying to look at the sky, instead.

Noticing the distraction, Charles regards the fading daylight. “You should go before dark.”

“So should you,” Erik replies. “Do you live far from here? The journey seems dangerous alone. If it’s not too much, you’re welcome to come with me—I can make dinner for us both, and drive you back.”

He wouldn’t normally offer, but he was raised better than to leave kindness with nothing in return. Custom has taught him gratitude in the form of hospitality (and quietly, he will admit being nervous about a hike by himself as dusk approaches.)

“Dinner?” Charles seems surprised by the gesture, as though he knows it’s out of character.

”We’re neighbors, are we not?” Erik reasons. “Besides, it’s fair exchange for saving my life.”

“Oh, Erik,” Charles laughs again and shakes his head. “You have no idea what you’ve invited.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Lead the way.”

There’s something about the way Charles says his name that makes a shiver run down his spine. Erik stares at the afternoon sun and back the way he came. He begins the journey back, with Charles discussing the neighborhood at his side.

-

It is about halfway through their walk that Erik realizes his pocketknife is gone.

-

Erik doesn’t like having guests. The last time he had held a long conversation was when a concerned neighbor had arrived at his door and started asking too many questions. His clothes were still imbued with the scent of smoke.

Still, his mother had taught him to be polite. He would live up to that.

Charles sends Erik a sharp smile from his seat at the kitchen island. His fingernails, somehow absent of dirt, click against the wooden surface.

“Thank you for letting me in,” he says. “I believe the weather was turning.”

“You saved my life. It’s no problem,” Erik replies, neatly cutting vegetables to set aside for grilling. 

Charles provides something that resembles smalltalk, if it was wearing a mask over its face and hiding a gun in its other hand. Erik had hoped that making dinner will save him from any idle chit chat. Idle would be the wrong word to describe this.

“You’re good with knives,” Charles hums. “I hope the isolated cabin in the woods I’m taking shelter in doesn’t secretly belong to a murderer.”

Erik grimaces. “Clearly, I’m retired.”

Charles laughs, not naively, but as though he can see right through the feigned sarcasm. As though he knows Erik is telling the truth.

“Clearly,” says Charles. 

Erik can feel the force of that piercing blue gaze without having to look. It’s impossible to remain unaware, not when every moment sits like a chill blade pressed against his skin. He concentrates on the knife. The vegetables are slowly becoming minced, rather than chopped. 

“You said there’s something in the woods,” Erik mutters. “Care to expand on that?”

He turns to see Charles gazing at the sliding glass door to the porch. Rolling clouds congeal above the treeline, coating the world in ashen dusk.

“It seems I was right,” Charles notes. “It’s raining.”

“So it is,” Erik replies, turning to pay more attention to the cutting board than the view. “And you’re avoiding my question.”

“There are some things that you’re better off not knowing.”

“I know plenty,” says Erik. He slices through a potato. 

The gentle tap of rain on the glass grows heavier as the sky darkens. Erik glimpses Charles’ shifting reflection against the kitchen window.

“You aren’t human,” he surmises, twisting around.

Charles’ smile falls, the glint in his eyes sharpening into something dangerous. “Neither are you. Unless most humans use knives without touching them.”

Erik leans over the counter, mere inches away from Charles. Hydrangea blue eyes stare back, eerily calm, yet knowing. The knife falls to the board. 

“Then _what_ are you?”

“There are many names given to otherworldly creatures,” says Charles, voice low. “A demon, ghost, apparition or fae.”

“Metal should ward off things like you.”

“Not at all.”

Over the course of a lifetime, Erik has been to enough places to know that folklore is often interconnected, even when it seems otherwise at first glance. 

“My parents told me plenty of stories,” Erik says. He fights the feeling of cool terror running down the back of his neck.

“You are human adjacent,” Charles states, lips ghosting Erik’s ear. “I, on the other hand, am less human than you will ever be.”

A long quiet cuts through the room as Erik inhales sharply, frozen in place. He isn’t sure how to reply. Even Charles’ breathing feels performative, as though he is trying to be as human as possible.

The pause can only last so long. Erik finally opens his mouth.

“We can discuss this over dinner,” he says, stiffly.

He then whirls around without another word and begins to prepare the fish. Even without looking, he knows Charles is sending him a crooked smile.

-

“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” says Charles from across the table after a long moment’s silence.

With two simple plates of grilled vegetables, salmon, and rice set for dinner, Erik and his strange guest had sat without further ceremony. Now, hesitantly gazing at one another, the conversation stutters just as it did minutes prior.

“I could be dead,” Erik mutters, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork. “Don’t take this as trust. I give basic courtesy to those around me until they are proven discourteous.”

“Good strategy,” says Charles. “I’m not very fond of violence, myself. I can’t say the same for anyone else of my kind.”

Nonviolent, but powerful. Erik frowns, remembering the circumstances in which they had met. He had given Charles his name. The act clearly had enough force to pull a human from the jaws of the Behemoth. 

“Charles,” Erik says slowly, rolling the name over his tongue. “We have some sort of contract, don’t we?” 

Charles sighs. “Different cultures throughout the ages have recorded my people, all retelling the same stories. None of them are entirely correct. In the case of names, I suppose the example of celtic legend comes to mind. You gave me your name. Therefore, by all rights, I have a claim on you.”

“Oh,” is all Erik can say, his recent bite of food now falling to the taste of ash. “Like—”

“Don’t say a demon,” Charles cuts in. “All it means is that I can sense your mind from further away. Besides, I gave you my name as well. We’re on even footing.”

“Alright, not a demon.” Erik frowns. “Does that mean I can summon you and read your mind, too?”

“It’s possible. I haven’t seen anyone do it before.” Charles pauses, his lips tilting into a slow smile. “I like that I have an equal.”

Erik fights the urge to laugh, as rude as it seems, at the idea. Equals implies that there is something remotely similar about them, when there is truly nothing comparable about what they are. It implies that they have the same influence on each other.

 _We do,_ Charles’ voice rings out, interrupting the thought.

 _I find that hard to believe,_ Erik sends in return.

“You made me dinner,” states Charles aloud. “That’s not something you normally do. I assume that means you tolerate me.”

“I’m not sure,” Erik admits. “I don’t normally have friends, either.”

“Well, there is not much about either of us that is ‘normal’. The least we can do is accept it.”

Erik opens his mouth, but finds he has nothing to argue against. While strange, Charles has never seemed horrified by Erik’s ability. There are few others he can say the same about. 

He takes another bite of food, wondering if his plans to be alone have been thwarted or simply changed.

-

Erik hates ambiguity. His entire life has been a series of uncertainties, the same questions circling him like buzzards. They come in murmurs that he may not have food to last the week and whispers that the soldiers may come for him today. They ask him if he truly has a goal, now that his entire world is upended once more. 

Charles is a living enigma, and it frustrates Erik to no end. Not because he is confusing, but because he is the one puzzle that Erik is more curious about than afraid of. 

The pocketknife rests snugly in Erik’s jacket pocket. It was not there yesterday. Neither were the stalks of wild blackcurrant berries still attached to blooms. Erik makes a jam out of the berries and stores it in the cupboard. Perhaps Charles will come by for a midday snack.

-

They go foraging together on Tuesdays. Erik finds that there are many species of fungi and herb that are sufficiently edible. Avoiding town is another perk he cannot ignore. Charles is...Charles. That may also be an advantage in and of itself.

“I’m not fond of tricking others,” Charles states. 

Erik raises his eyebrows, watching as the man carefully picks some blackberries. “What brought this on?”

“Well, you’re thinking about it,” says Charles. “Most people around you have had an ulterior motive. I don’t. It makes you uncomfortable.”

“The idea that you don’t have one, or that I haven’t found one yet?”

“Both.”

Erik blinks. He supposes it’s true, but saying it aloud registers just how little he allows himself anything. It’s lonely.

“Perhaps it seems lonely,” Charles cuts in. “But I understand. The world has not been kind to you, Erik.”

It’s too much, the way Charles’ eyes shine in the daylight. His gaze bores right through Erik with such intense attention that Erik forces himself to look away. 

“What do you do around here, Charles?” Erik redirects. “If you only want to...talk to me.”

“Well,” Charles hums, a strained discontent radiating through their mental connection. He continues staring at Erik, whether this is returned or not. Erik can tell just by the sharp crackle of energy filling the space between them. “I’m interested in the inner workings of the flora and fauna of this area. I’ve been traveling through these woods in order to track the population movements of a new variety of deer.”

“I didn’t know your last name was Darwin,” Erik muses. He finally returns his gaze to Charles, sidestepping carefully to avoid straying from the path. 

Charles grins. “I am proud to share a name with him. Interesting man with some brilliant ideas. Good framework.”

“Science and magic.”

“They can coexist,” Charles assures. “For instance, you are a result of mutated genes, resulting in the ability to sense and alter electromagnetic currents.”

Erik huffs out a small laugh. “Some scientists are going to rip all of their hair out if they find out about us.” 

“I sincerely hope not. Hair is extremely important.” Charles combs a hand through his own hair as though making a point.

The mood never lightens further, but Erik swears that they find more berries than usual that day. Charles tries not to bring up Erik’s past. It’s for the best, really.

-

 _Magda would like him,_ Erik thinks, struck by the words the moment they enter his mind. The pipes in the house shudder and creak. His skin itches like it has been seared. He hasn’t thought of his late wife in a long time. 

Erik adds another log to the hearth. He watches the flames crackle and spit embers. Charles glances over at him, brow furrowed in concern, but he says nothing.

-

Erik opens the sliding backdoor far too early in that morning, thanks to all the knocking. Charles waves, looking impeccably clean as always. 

“It’s barely seven,” Erik mutters, suddenly conscious of his own unkempt appearance. He’s wearing nightclothes, which is to say, a pair of pants and nothing else. “I’m not even dressed yet.”

“I thought I’d bring breakfast,” Charles replies, holding up a basket. “Wild quail eggs.”

Erik lets Charles in, closing the door behind him with a lazy swipe of the hand. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and glances at the basket. 

“I checked. They’re kosher,” Charles assures, already knowing what Erik is about to ask.

“...Thank you,” Erik replies, pulling a frying pan out of a cupboard and trying not to think about how odd the entire situation is.

“You refurbished the yard,” Charles notes, glossing over the topic of Erik’s attire. “The garden is finally looking proper.”

Erik shrugs. “It wasn’t left in very good condition.”

“The last resident was the equivalent of a stone clogging a river,” Charles explains. He leans over the kitchen island counter and watches Erik prepare the eggs. “You are more like a pond-lily floating downstream.”

“Should that be a compliment?” Erik muses. He glances back in time to see Charles’ ears flush red. 

“I’m not always good at this talking-to-humans thing,” Charles admits.

Erik’s lips twitch in amusement, any exhaustion from earlier made up for by the company. “Human adjacent, remember? I’m not so good at it either, anyway.”

“Then we’re doing well for ourselves.”

“I agree.”

While the eggs are frying, Erik pulls the jam jar from the pantry and places it on the counter. 

“Did you make this?” Charles asks. Charles swipes a bit of jam from the lid with his finger and tastes it. His eyes light up. “It’s good.”

“I thought we’d share this, seeing as you got the ingredients,” says Erik, feeling the sudden urge to clear his throat. 

Charles smiles as the rising sun reaches through the kitchen window and paints the world in vermillion. Erik almost burns the eggs. 

-

They’ve taken to playing chess each night. Charles is an exceptional strategist, but Erik knows a thing or two about tactics himself. They end up tying, more than once. When Erik wins for the first time, Charles’ eyes widen and it seems as though, in that moment, the entire world is holding its breath. 

-

Erik senses the approaching vehicle before he sees it. No one comes down a dead-end backroad without reason. Gravel crackles beneath mud-caked wheels as the van comes to a stop a few yards from the house. 

“What’s wrong?” Charles pipes up, busy planting a tea olive shrub.

“Hide,” Erik hisses.

“Pardon me?”

“Two men living alone together on a secluded property is _suspicious._ I don’t want any more trouble than I already have.” Erik swiftly pulls the trowel into his hand, hoping no one saw the tool levitating on its own.

“I don’t even live—” Charles stops himself short and frowns, acquiescing. He brings two fingers to his temple. “Fine. I won’t be spotted.”

Erik can still see him, standing under the afternoon sun in his navy blue jumper as though nothing happened at all. Whatever Charles managed, it will have to be good enough. The sound of a car door slamming shut urges Erik to walk around the side of the house so he is fully in view of the driveway. 

It takes the swing of a vaguely familiar walking cane to remind Erik of his home’s previous owner. He winces internally.

“Hey, you!” a gruff voice picks up.

“Good afternoon,” Erik mutters. 

_Tap._ The cane clicks. The old man shuffles across the grass, sniffing at the glaring light of day. Erik watches as the old man wrinkles his nose and turns from glancing through the windows to the garden lining the house.

“You fixed up this yard pretty fast,” the man grunts.

“It’s a good way to pass the time,” says Erik. He doesn’t quite remember the man’s name, but it doesn’t matter; the man certainly doesn’t remember his. “What brings you all the way out here?”

The old man clears his throat. “Just thought I’d stop by.” _Tap._

“Right.” 

The old man narrows his eyes as he peers closer through the windows. “No wife, still?” 

“No.” The thought is a bit laughable given Erik’s current situation. 

“I’m surprised you’ve made it this long out here.” _Tap._ The man lets out a chuckle reminiscent to the sound of a shovel hitting dirt. 

“I’m resilient like that,” Erik deadpans. 

“Are you, now?” _Tap._

Erik stands taller than the old man, but that is not what he is worried about. It is the unnerving way the old man nods slowly at Erik’s reply, as though he knows something Erik does not. It is the sudden arrival, as though the man was looking for something.

“Getting along with fair folk isn’t a good sign, boy,” the man insists, reeking of cigarettes and cheap gasoline as he steps closer. “Just remember not to let your guard down.”

The man digs his cane into the earth one last time, unafraid to look Erik in the eye. Neither of them have anything to say. Erik refuses to confirm or deny the man’s claim.

“I would appreciate it if you got off my property,” Erik finally states.

“It’s not too late to turn back. Unless you’ve already sold your soul, that is,” the man hisses, unflinching. The metal cane trembles, not out of weakness, but of premonition. Slowly, his expression twists into a grim smile. “But I have overstayed my welcome. I should be leaving.”

The old man whirls around and trods off without so much as another word. Erik watches, stunned and unable to reply. _Tap._ The cane hits gravel and dirt with a sense of finality.

 _Tap._ The man does not look at Erik again _._ Not even when he climbs into his car and starts the engine with a gurgling howl, kicking up a cloud of dust as the vehicle speeds back down the road it came. 

Erik waits for the machine to vanish entirely, but the hazy wake is still there. The flattened grass and moved gravel is still there. The words are still there, ringing in his ears. 

Erik does not know who is loathed more. Whether he has been added to a growing list of horrors that arose from the forest to prey on humanity. He slips behind the house. A restless itch grows under his skin, only worsened by the unrelenting sun overhead.

“That was rude,” Charles decides, clutching a weed before swiftly pulling it. “He clearly had no business here.”

“He probably suspected that I’d get lost in the woods and die, or that I’d leave without warning out of fear,” says Erik. He holds the trowel in his hands, this time, when he begins digging again.

“He wanted to reclaim the property,” Charles murmurs. “His thoughts were very unpleasant, you know. I was half-convinced he would accuse you of being a male witch.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Erik notes, striking at the soil until he has carved a sizable hollow in the dirt. 

“Based on how humans treat suspected magic users, that is not a good thing,” says Charles, all humor in his voice faded. Seemingly concerned. 

“Don’t I know it,” Erik grunts. 

Only when he knows the van is far from his property does he pick the trowel up with his ability again. There is no shame in what he can do, but that doesn’t stop him from wondering how many weighted lead bullets he will feel the next time a stranger rolls up.

-

Sometimes, when Erik wins at chess, the connection between them lights up. Emotions flood. Pride. Fondness. Longing. That is how, one night, Erik knows Charles is about to kiss him. There is no outward movement, only a shared acknowledgment running a current through two minds. 

Erik kisses Charles first. The connection glows like starlight.

-

They’re halfway through a chess game when they hear from the prior homeowner again. 

“Someone is in the yard,” Charles states as though he’s making a remark about the weather. “I believe we have a stalker.”

The fireplace crackles through the cool evening. Erik, with his knight still in hand, now sits alert. He knows better than to stand and draw further attention to himself. The gaze on him still leaves a cold shiver crawling down the back of his neck.

“Who is it?” Erik asks.

“The previous owner of this house,” says Charles, grimacing. “He doesn’t have any metal on him this time. I think he knows.”

“Shit.”

“I can have a friendly chat with him,” Charles offers.

“Define friendly,” says Erik.

“I’d rather not.” 

Charles does not even bother standing before he vanishes. This leaves Erik blinking at an empty chair while trying to figure out where to move his knight. 

Erik wants to think that this is not the end. That he will not have to leave soon after he is discovered. He knows otherwise. Charles probably does, too.

By the time the piece is settled back on the board, Charles has reappeared.

“It’s taken care of,” Charles states.

“I hope you didn’t kill him,” Erik mutters. “I thought that was my job.”

“I wouldn’t dream of attracting any unwanted attention.” Charles holds up a stack of bills and grins. “Although, I did make fifty dollars and gained the right to the man’s first born grandchild, not that I would actually accept that offer.” 

“His what?” Erik asks, not able to help the smile tugging at his lips. 

“I keep trying to explain that I’m not a demon,” Charles protests. “Not that anyone listens.”

Erik doesn’t know what Charles said to the previous owner of the house, but whatever it was must have worked. He has to admit that it’s amusing to imagine anyone cowering because Charles politely asked them to leave. 

“Well,” Erik muses, leaning closer, “you certainly made an impression.”

“That, I did.” Charles laughs.

Erik is not as unnerved about this as he used to be; not when the sound is so warmly familiar and aching of a home he has not had in a long time. Charles is willing to tear down the incoming mobs for Erik—and unlike Erik, he would win.

Erik kisses him, and any doubts that had crossed his mind fade.

-

There is a knock at the door just a week later. 

Standing out front is a complete stranger with both the previous owner of the house and the local police behind him. A badge gleams on the stranger’s chest, identifying a local sheriff way in over his head. 

“Can I help you?” Erik asks. 

“It’s him,” a voice in the crowd murmurs. 

In seconds there are guns trained on the doorway, their safeties switching off with a definitive click. The sheriff who had first knocked stumbles back and draws his weapon. Erik is exposed, with nowhere to hide.

“Hands up!” an officer shouts. “Erik Lehnsherr, you are under arrest for the mu—”

Whatever the officer is going to say next, Erik doesn’t catch. He whirls around and does not look back as the first shots are fired. Bullets curve and slice through the living room.

Erik sprints towards the back of the house. He sprints through the porch that hosts a flourishing garden. Through tangles of wild grass and into the forest. Through the thicket, with spiny undergrowth scraping at his bare arms as he skids downhill. The sound of howling dogs echoes behind him. 

Erik is fourteen and hearing the crack of a gunshot. Erik is seventeen and ripping through barbed wire. Erik feels a bullet tearing through skin. One. Two. Wireframe glasses and ash in the sky.

Three.

He blinks and he is standing calf-deep in a stream, shaking. He smells smoke and feels charring skin on his fingertips. 

“Erik!” a voice carries through the wind, omniscient and right next to him all at once

Erik twists around to see Charles, falling over himself as he moves upstream. Erik does not know how long he has been running. He doesn’t know whether it started the moment he was born or the moment the evil shapes that called themselves men took his family away. 

“You’re dissociating!” Charles calls. “We have to go!”

The glow of a flashlight pierces through the trees. Erik stares at Charles. Frigid water sinks into his shoes and socks and skin. The barking grows louder.

“Run!” 

Charles grabs Erik by the hand, twining their fingers as he pulls with inhuman strength.

Erik does not budge. He has had enough running for a lifetime.

“Erik, please,” Charles protests. “Turning around to kill them will only bring more soldiers to your doorstep.”

A shot rings out. Erik rips away from Charles and twists to face their attackers.

“It won’t matter. They found me,” Erik mutters. “They always do.”

“Don’t do this!” Charles shouts.

They are surrounded on all sides, men and dogs closing in like a snarling cage. Erik holds his hands up, feeling every sliver of metal interlocked in each gun. This is for his parents. For his late wife and child. For Charles. 

He pulls. 

The ground ripples, gasping open to swallow their pursuers whole.

-

“I didn’t want to do that,” Charles whispers. 

Any evidence of the officers is buried without a trace. The dogs stare blankly, forgetting all violence ingrained in them. A cluster of death caps grows in the displaced dirt.

“What did you do?” Erik asks because he knows he is powerful, but he has never been able to move the earth itself.

Charles steps onto the changed riverbank as though it was always there. Ferns sprout at his feet. 

“I protected you,” says Charles, as though it’s simple. As natural as breathing. 

“I could have—”

“I know. I just don’t want to see any more blood on your hands.” Charles smiles weakly. “You deserve better than that.”

Erik stops, turning to him and reaching to clasp his hand again. “But so do you.”

“I’ve been around for very long, Erik.” Charles twines their fingers together. “I can handle this, as well.”

“We’ve been compromised,” Erik recognizes. “What now?”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Charles presses his lips to their joined hands. His cerulean eyes shine otherworldly in their conviction.

Their connection says _we can leave this place._ It says _they won’t find us again._ It is a spark of hope that is uniquely _Charles._

Erik can’t help but believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
